


Velvet

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Size Difference, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3768784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fíli takes Smaug up on his offer to trade Erebor for help dealing with his heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Smaug being in heat, and being very frustrated about it. Basically a whiny, horny dragon is all alone, and wanking is difficult without hands. If the dwarfs+Bilbo gets involved somehow that would be cool” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/11476.html?thread=22900948#t22900948).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The second Bilbo reemerges down the tunnel, the dwarves are ecstatic. Fíli can feel Kíli gripping tight to his arm, and he can hear the collectively held breath release. Bilbo steps out of the shadows, very much alive. 

He looks nervous, but that’s to be expected after one confronts a dragon. They all heard the roar and felt the mountain shake: Smaug, unfortunately, must be alive, and worse, awake. Yet little Bilbo Baggins doesn’t appear to wear a scratch, and when Thorin rushes up to him, Bilbo mumbles, “I’m alright.” His cheeks are slightly pink and he’s shuffling awkwardly, but that could be from the warmth of dragonfire. Looking down at Thorin’s feet, he says, “There’s... there’s been a bit of a hiccup.”

“We heard the roar,” Thorin grunts, sobered at once. The relief at seeing Bilbo again warps back into hatred for the beast that took their halls. Fíli and Kíli are just at his side, the others having closed in around them to see their beloved hobbit returned to them. 

“Um, it’s more than just that,” Bilbo says, and he fidgets. “I... I spoke to Smaug. It seems he... well, he’s willing to relinquish the mountain, actually.”

“What?” Thorin’s mouth falls open, his eyes wide. Fíli’s sure his own are much the same. All the dwarves are gaping, at a loss for words. Fíli’s sure he must’ve misheard. 

But Bilbo explains carefully, “I shouldn’t say it like that; it’s not that he’ll simply give it up. But he’s willing to... ah... ‘negotiate.’”

Instantly, Thorin hisses, “I will not negotiate with the slug that drove out my kin!”

But Balin, on the other side from Fíli and Kíli, reaches for Thorin’s arm and says gently, “Thorin, we can’t fight a dragon. A negotiation would be better than a battle.”

Bofur’s the one to ask, “What does he want?”

Here, Bilbo looks most uncomfortable. His plump cheeks turn a bright red, just as they do when any of the dwarves speak of ‘cruder’ things, go for a dip in the stream without bothering to cover themselves up or brag of their sexual prowess. The poor little fellow can be much too proper for his Dwarven companions, but Fíli’s still grown very fond of him, as they all have. After a minute of opening his mouth and closing it, as though searching for the right phrasing, Bilbo says, “It seems that Smaug is... he’s in heat. Apparently it’s most frustrating, being all alone in there in his condition, and if we... ah... if one of us... if we _help_ him with his problem, he says he’ll release the mountain to you, dragon’s honour.”

For a few minutes, the group is silent. The words sink into Fíli’s skull, and he’s _sure_ he must’ve heard wrong. Smaug’s in _heat_? He’s seen animals go into heat before, although never one so _magnificent_ as a dragon, and none sentient to speak of it. Though Fíli’s never conversed with a dragon, of course he’s curious. He couldn’t not be. Dragons are, after all, beautiful creatures, rich and strong, and apparently this one’s also horny. Fíli can feel his own cheeks heating as he thinks about it. A great, towering, jewel-encrusted beast like Smaug, panting hard and rolling about in lust...

“Dragon’s honour,” Thorin snorts. “This is absurd. It’s a ruse.”

“I don’t think so,” Bilbo mumbles. “He... ah... he did seem quite... encumbered.”

“Does he have a preference?” Nori asks. When Bilbo just looks at him in surprise, Nori urges, “Well, what does he want? Blond, brunette, redhead...?” Next to him, Dori looks utterly scandalized. Nori’s voice is an odd mix of terror and awe.

Fíli knows the feeling. It does sound terrifying, but it also sounds _exciting_ , and this is better than they’d hoped, actually—they’d never really had a plan for finding a living, breathing dragon, and half the reason Fíli truly came was to see that. He loves his uncle, of course he does, and he wanted to help. But he also wanted to _see a dragon_ , and the thought of finding it in heat... what luck...

“This is ridiculous,” Dwalin grumbles. “None of us can mate with a dragon; we’ll be the size of his thumb!”

“If he has thumbs,” Glóin grunts. “He’ll have all claws; no wonder he’s frustrated—the vicious mongrel won’t be able to help himself!”

Poor Bilbo looks very nearly like he’s going to faint. Fíli has his own questions on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t dare ask them in case the enthusiasm slips out in his voice. Bilbo tries to explain, “He says he just wants companionship for a few hours. I don’t think he’d expect anyone to—well, no, of course we couldn’t—you couldn’t—I mean—”

Before Fíli can stop himself, he’s blurted, “I’ll go.”

All eyes turn to him at once. He can feel Kíli going rigid next to him, and Thorin looks dumbstruck. Óin’s looking curiously at the new trumpet he picked up in Laketown, doubtless wondering if this conversation could be correct. Even Bifur looks worried. 

But Fíli doesn’t regret saying it, and he says weakly, “Do we have a choice? We came all this way—we can’t just turn back.”

“Absolutely not,” Thorin says, leaving no room for argument.

Fíli argues anyway, “But it’s like Balin said, isn’t it? We can’t fight him!”

“Then we’ll find some other way!” Thorin says hotly. 

To Fíli’s surprise, Bilbo squeaks, “I don’t think there is one.” When Thorin looks down to glare at him, Bilbo mutters, “He’s _huge_ and his fire... no, we couldn’t fight him.”

“And we can’t give up,” Fíli reinforces, because failure is something Thorin doesn’t tolerate. “Have you got a better plan?”

“I’ll go,” Nori interrupts. “It shouldn’t be an heir.” He still looks nervous, but apparently Fíli’s interest has justified his own, and he nods solemnly, like having psyched himself up for a thrill ride. 

Before anyone can latch onto that, Fíli insists, “No, that’s exactly why it _should_ be me. Everyone knows dragons love royalty. He’ll want a prince.”

“Then I should go,” Kíli says, which makes Fíli’s chest tighten with both jealousy and the urge to protect his brother. “I’m not the direct heir. You’re too important.” Another pang: Kíli _is_ important.

And Fíli means to say that, but instead he somehow winds up muttering, “You already got an elf.” 

That draws him several funny looks. His blush increases, but he stands his ground. It’s true. Kíli managed to have a good time with a different species, why can’t Fíli? He’s the one that’s fascinated with dragons, even if he’s never admitted it. Bolstered, he insists, “I _want_ to go.”

To his surprise, Balin says, “You should.”

Thorin instantly turns to glare at his old friend, mouth already open, but Balin hurriedly continues, “What’s a better plan, Thorin? Offering up a single dwarf in the hope of reclaiming Erebor, or having that dwarf and all the rest of us burned to death?”

“I’ll be careful,” Fíli promises. “I really will. _Please_ , Thorin. If there’s even a chance to resolve this peacefully, we have to try.”

Thorin looks at him for several long minutes, during which Fíli forces himself to keep his ground. He doesn’t flinch. Kíli’s wrapped an arm around his again, but no one says a word to stop him. 

Finally, Thorin shakes his head and grumbles bitterly, “Alright.” As Fíli tries to stifle his grin, Thorin adds, “But Bilbo will go with you.” Bilbo squeaks in surprise, but Thorin goes on, “He’ll keep to the shadows and watch, so he can fetch us the second anything goes wrong.”

Blushing furiously, Bilbo splutters for a retort, but Fíli doesn’t want to wait around long enough for Thorin to change his mind. He grabs Bilbo by the arm and turns him back towards the tunnel into the mountain, dragging the poor hobbit right into the dragon’s den.

* * *

Every step they take into Erebor fills Fíli with more anticipation. It’s too dark to see much of the Dwarven splendor, though he knows that’s still where he should be looking. This is the home of his people, what he came all this way to reclaim. Yet _Smaug_ himself seems such a greater prize, and Fíli finds himself inexplicably drawn towards the pale gold light that licks around the corners of corridors. It’s the only illumination they have, and when Fíli whispers, “What is it?”

Bilbo answers quietly, “Torches and his scales.”

His _scales_. He can shine enough to light up all of Erebor. 

Then, as Bilbo leads them deeper and deeper, the noises reach Fíli’s ears: stifled, growled _moans._ The voice is echoed too loudly to hear clearly, but the tips of Bilbo’s ears have become pink, and Fíli thinks that must be a good sign: Smaug’s voice is blush-worthy. The farther they go, the louder the sounds become, though Fíli can tell that the poor beast is trying to hold them back, simply to no avail.

By the time they finally reach the staircase over the great hall full of gold, Fíli’s nearly running. He hits the hall several steps before Bilbo, up at the top of a long, twisted flight of stairs. The gold below assaults his senses, and he has to stumble back. The light is nearly blinding after so long in the dark, and he’s never seen so much treasure in all his life—it swallows up the entire floor. There are a few torches lit here and there on high-up pillars, doubtless lit by their dragon host, and the fire adds to the heat of the room, so stifling that it takes all Fíli’s pride to keep all his clothes on. The stench of _dragon_ is already thick in his nostrils, permeating the air, musky and a little metallic and strangely intoxicating. Without looking back, Fíli murmurs to Bilbo, “Stay here.”

And then he descends the long steps by himself, first taking one at a time and then several in each go, racing down to the pool of gold. He’s looking everywhere for Smaug—he can still hear the noises—but all he sees is treasure upon treasure, until his foot hits the bottom. 

Then the treasure erupts, flying everywhere, and Fíli throws up an arm on instinct, covering his face to turn away. Before him, the hill’s burst apart, and when he lowers his arm, he sees a giant, crimson form slithering out of the gold like emerging from the sea. Massive, leathery wings unfold and flap in the air, a towering muzzle littered with spikes curving to look at Fíli. None of the stories did Smaug justice. At first, all Fíli can do is _stare_ , eyes darting everywhere to take in everything at once. Smaug stares back, steam billowing out of his nostrils and his tail slithering out around his claws. He takes one step to cover more distance than Fíli could run in twice the time, and his head lowers down right in front of Fíli. 

Fíli should be afraid. He knows that. He’s half-paralyzed, but not in fear. It’s sheer amazement. He opens his mouth and means to introduce himself, but he doesn’t have the words. 

Smaug asks, “This is who the little thief sent? You’ve come to take me up on my... _offer_?” The last word is a breathy near-moan, stretched out and languid. The heat of it wafts over Fíli, while the deep timber of Smaug’s voice makes his knees weak. It’s sensual, pure sex. Fíli can hear the _want_ in it, and when he strains, he thinks he can see the flush along Smaug’s body. It takes several seconds for Fíli to recover enough to answer. 

He breathes, “F... Fíli. Son of Dís, of the line of Durin.” Smaug’s yellow eyes flash, and Fíli licks his lips, somehow managing to finish, “I... ah, yes. I’m here to take you up on your offer.”

It’s hard to tell on a dragon’s snout, but Fíli thinks the corners of Smaug’s lips are lifting up in a smile. When his mouth opens next, saliva drips between his enormous teeth, doubtless sharp as knives, but it’s the rosy tongue beyond them that catches Fíli’s eye. Smaug purrs, “A prince. ...I _like_ that.” Fíli can’t stop himself from shivering. He wants to be what Smaug likes. Still, Smaug seems to inspect him. 

Smaug lets his tail slither down to Fíli, who bravely stands his ground. It curls in a tidy circle around him, then suddenly sucks tight, and Fíli’s crushed between broiling red scales—he cries out in surprise, but Smaug only snaps him closer, dragging him forward into the hall. A second later, he’s let go of, the spiky tail slithering away to leave him unsteady in the gold—he stumbles down to his knees. He feels like his clothes are scorched. He looks up at Smaug, and Smaug hisses with a flare of possessiveness, “ _Yesss_... you will do.” One of his paws comes forward, the long claws glimmering in the firelight, and the very tip of a pointed nail presses against his collarbone, just short of piercing skin. “Are you ready for this, little one?”

Despite all the danger, despite the taboo and his loyalties, when Fíli groans, “Yes,” he means it. 

Smaug’s talon drags down the front of his coat, easily slicing the ties open. The heavy fabric slithers off his shoulders, leaving his tunic and trousers, where the claw stops. Fíli looks up at Smaug, gauging why, and his hands lift up to his collar. The clear interest in Smaug’s eyes tells him to proceed. 

Fíli’s never been particular proficient at stripping. Now is no better. He’s too interested, and he wants to be out of his clothes as fast as possible. After all, Smaug’s already naked, not a single stitch of his shimmering scales obscured from Fíli’s view. Dwarven skin isn’t the same, but Fíli still wants to bare it, and besides, it’s all too hot. He pulls his tunic over his head in a hurry, aimlessly dropping it atop his coat. All his weapons go with them. There’s no need to hang onto them; it’s just extra bulk that would do no good against a dragon, anyway. He fiddles with the front of his trousers, shoving them down around his thighs, and there’s nothing underneath to stop his cock from bobbing out, already half hard from the wave of warmth against his senses. He can feel Smaug’s eyes staring between his legs, but he just keeps going, pushing off his trousers and fumbling out of his boots. When he’s finished, he’s as naked as his host. 

He knows he can never compare to a dragon, but he’s still not shy. He sinks to his knees, mainly because they can’t seem to hold him up anymore, and partially because he wants to show his _submission._ He spreads his arms like a sacrifice, offering himself up to the beast that’s claimed his rightful home. Smaug’s tongue peaks out of his mouth to swipe along his muzzle: the reptilian version of licking his lips. Fíli can only hope that means he’s met with approval. 

Fast as lightning, Smaug’s tongue darts out. It smashes against Fíli’s legs, wedging against his thighs and between his legs, hot saliva drenching his stomach and pouring over him. He barely has time to gasp before the rest of it’s covering his chest, then his face, and he turns his head aside to splutter, the force of it knocking him over onto his back. He hits the pool of coins with his legs splayed out beneath him, the tongue pressing him down and slithering all over his body, swirling and molding against all of his curves, filling every nook and cranny. When the smooth surface leaves his chest, his nipples are peaked in its wake, warm and wet and pebbled for it, and he arches after the fleeting touch. Smaug lingers the longest on his crotch, and it’s the most exquisite feeling Fíli’s ever experienced—he’s completely enveloped and drenched, not squeezed tight enough to hurt, but enough pressure for his eyes to flutter, mouth spilling open to moan. His stubble’s soaked, stray blond hairs plastered across his face with the moisture. But it’s so hot that he can almost _feel_ it evaporating. As Smaug prods at him, he thrusts his hips up into it. It’s utterly _divine_.

With an easy flick of the giant appendage, Fíli’s rolled abruptly onto his stomach. He sticks to the treasure below, but he’s too engrossed in the pleasure to mind the poke of so many little trinkets pressed into his skin. His cock is rock hard and twitching with want, but there’s no time for him to hump the gold. Smaug’s tongue runs back over him, from the backs of his feet to the base of his skull, lingering over the curve of his ass and the small of his spine. Smaug isn’t just licking him, Smaug’s _tasting_ and _feeling_ him. When Smaug goes in for a second swipe, Fíli finds himself whimpering. It isn’t fair that anything should feel so _good_ , and he does a silent prayer for Thorin to forgive him—he doesn’t just like the foul beast, he _loves_ it. It only gets better when Smaug speaks, his voice now thick with as much desire as Fíli trembles with. “Lift your rear for me, little prince.”

Fíli obeys immediately. He has to scramble for purchase against the slipping heap of coins, but as soon as he gets a good footing, he thrusts his ass high into the air. Boiling steam wafts over him, and he gasps as his skin turns red, struggling to stay up. Smaug purrs, “My, you are eager. ...And would you spread your pretty legs for me, too?” _Pretty_. The compliment clings in Fíli’s clouded mind; Smaug, the most handsome creature in this world, thinks him _pretty_. He feels unworthy, but of course he does as he’s told, parting his legs as much as he can. Then Smaug adds with amusement, “Show me your sweet hole.”

Fíli reaches back with both hands, grabbing the cheeks of his ass and holding them apart. It’s hard to get a good grip with how wet he is, but he does his best to expose his ass, until he can feel his twitching hole stretched around the brim, and the steam ghosts fully over it. He wishes desperately that Smaug could actually _fit inside him,_ but of course that can’t be done. He feels a stab of tongue again, and he almost loses balance, but Smaug is being gentle to accommodate his awkward position. He fights to be good, to hold himself open and stay up on his knees, though his face is turned against the treasure. Smaug’s tongue worms against him as though it wants to breach him, twist inside, but Fíli’s asshole is a small, delicate thing compared to the girth of Smaug’s mouth. He wants to open himself wider, though he knows there’s still no way; he’ll never be able to take a dragon’s cock. But there’re still so many other things, Fíli hopes, that Smaug could fuck him with...

The tongue recedes, and Fíli whines, not wanting it to go. He keeps his rear up, but he gives in with his arms, dropping them to steady himself, and he peers over his shoulder. 

Smaug’s taken a step back, and then he’s standing, pushing up to just his hind legs, the true glory of his height making Fíli’s head spin. But it’s soon clear just what Smaug wants him to see. At the very bottom of Smaug’s torso, a ripe, scaled, humungous cock juts proudly into the air, slightly curved but clearly hard. It’s a pinker hue than the rest of him, almost like flesh, and Fíli thinks he can see the strange bulges of muscle. It looks almost bigger than Fíli’s entire body. He realizes belatedly that his hips are trembling beyond his control, wracked with spasms as though in the middle of getting fucked—he’s so turned on that he can’t seem to stop it. Smaug takes a few thunderous steps, coming ever closer, his cock bobbing with each one.

His shadow floods over Fíli, and then the weight of the meaty cock is lowered onto him, and he tosses his head back to cry out but quickly has it thrown down again. The cock drops against him, so that he can feel the smooth, smoldering touch all over his entire back, between his cheeks and down his thighs, and his knees give in, dropping him down. He lies on his stomach in the coins, face turned to the side to breathe while the huge dick slides down him, then thrusts up again, grinding against his whole body. Smaug lets out a wild, gorgeous moan, and Fíli’s just about ready to burst. 

The cock thrusts against him several times, and he’s sure that Smaug must be trying to hold it up a little to not crush him—the weight certainly could. It lifts up too soon, and Fíli whimpers, looking back, only for Smaug to pant, “Turn over, my prince.”

Fíli scrambles to follow the order. Coins cling to his chest as he turns, but all he can see is _Smaug_ towering over him—he’s _Smaug’s_ prince. In the heat of sex, that sounds just right; of course he’d like to belong to a _dragon._ There could be no greater master.

Settling down again, Smaug nestles his beast of a cock against Fíli’s front, covering his own hard dick. The second Fíli’s touching it, he bucks up, grinding his nipples against it and thrusting his hips like an animal. He throws his arms up, but he can’t reach all the way around it, can only hold onto the blistering scales. It’s strangely soft against his skin, tantalizing and alluring. He spreads his legs around it, wanting to feel the slide against his bare thighs, and he’s quickly rewarded. Smaug ruts into him carefully but hurriedly, sliding against him in harsh, jarring thrusts. Fíli keeps his face turned aside, the giant head poking over his cheek. He takes thrust after thrust, and soon he’s quivering and whimpering, moaning between panted breaths. Above him, Smaug is howling.

Just when he thinks he’s had too much to take, a slick bead of precum slithers down Fíli’s forehead, soaking into his hair; he knows that must be what it is, and it’s pouring out of Smaug’s cock to drizzle over his head. He tilts his chin up to keep it from getting in his mouth, but then Smaug pulls back and _roars_. All the treasure shakes, and for a moment, Fíli thinks the ceiling will come down, but instead something glorious happens; great, thick spouts of dragon cum spurt of Smaug’s massive cock, showering over Fíli like a fountain. It splashes all around him, soaking his entire body in a massive puddle. It sizzles, hot, and fills his mouth; he only just manages to close his eyes in time, but he doesn’t have any dry limbs to wipe them off with. His mouth is gasping, spluttering, and he tries to sit up on his shaking elbows, needing to swallow several times before he can breathe. It’s almost too hot to taste, but he catches a certain saltiness, and it’s thick going down. Fíli collapses a moment later, trying to breathe, and he brings his drenched hands up to his eyes, trying to wipe them clear. His own cock feels like it’s going to burst any second, completely ensconced in Smaug’s seed. Finally, he’s able to peek his eyes open. Smaug is grinning fondly down at him. He licks his lips and swallows again; it’s clinging to his beard. 

It’s clinging to _all_ of him. There isn’t a single patch on Fíli’s body that doesn’t reek of Smaug; he can even feel it trickling along his sides and pooling against his back, not thin enough to completely slip through the coins. The hall shakes again as Smaug lowers back to all fours, then to sit, his tail curling close around Fíli. Fíli struggles to breathe and lick his fingers clean so he can scoop the mess off his face, for lack of a better way to tidy up. 

“ _Beautiful_ ,” Smaug purrs, his voice still enough to make Fíli’s cock twitch. How he didn’t come from that, he’s no idea. Then Smaug leisurely asks, “You know, my little prince, I rather like you. Are you sure you want us to be apart...?”

Fíli isn’t sure at all. He knows he could never be a dragon’s mate, and yet, in this moment, he doesn’t ever want to leave Smaug’s side. It takes considerable work to think of Kíli and Thorin, still worried, back up on the mountaintop. Fíli’s too turned on to say anything, so he’s quite.

Smirking, Smaug turns his head and booms, “Thief in the shadows—why don’t you send me more dwarves to play with? Perhaps we can make some sort of... arrangement... until my condition has gone away.” Fíli’s almost disappointed—he’s good at sharing, but he doesn’t want to be forgotten—except that Smaug looks back at him, affectionately adding, “Tell them that my little prince has had a lovely time.” Fíli can only assume Smaug’s words are for Bilbo, though the fond look on his face is clearly for Fíli alone. 

In the distance, Fíli thinks he can hear scampering footsteps echoing off. He could be wrong. 

He spreads his legs, hand trailing down through the mess of cum to wrap around his shaft, and he doesn’t have to do the rest. 

Smaug licks at him while they wait for the others to arrive. 

By the time Kíli shows up at the top of the stairs, Fíli’s come twice and doesn’t think he’ll ever leave.


End file.
